


Undignified

by chaos_monkey



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Clothed Sex, Desperation, Established Relationship, Fingering, Jaskier is cute and squirmy and Geralt loves it, Large Cock, M/M, Mild Dom/sub undertones, Omorashi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Under-negotiated Kink, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_monkey/pseuds/chaos_monkey
Summary: Jaskier whimpers and tries again to wriggle his way off Geralt's lap, to no avail.Now normally, he would absolutely not be complaining about his current predicament— that is to say, nestled snugly in Geralt's lap, straddling the witcher's massive thighs with Geralt's lovely strong arms wrapped firmly around his middle and Geralt's insistent mouth working a hot trail down one side of his neck— but the fact is that he had been on his wayoutof their little campsite in the woods to go find a likely sort of tree and address a rather urgent matter of a decidedly personal nature when Geralt had accosted him without warning and pulled him down into his current position.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 40
Kudos: 715
Collections: Dandelion





	Undignified

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic is about Jaskier wetting himself in Geralt's lap and them fucking about it. If that's not your cup of tea, you may not want to go any further. 
> 
> (Also, I think my writing style here was fairly heavily influenced by [LokelaniRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokelaniRose/pseuds/LokelaniRose)'s absolutely fantastic characterizations of these two, after reading [Woodash and iron and leather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22114921) and [A hard curl of satisfaction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22510483). If you haven't read those yet, you are missing out.)

Jaskier whimpers and tries again to wriggle his way off Geralt's lap, to no avail. 

Now normally, he would absolutely not be complaining about his current predicament— that is to say, nestled snugly in Geralt's lap, straddling the witcher's massive thighs with Geralt's lovely strong arms wrapped firmly around his middle and Geralt's insistent mouth working a hot trail down one side of his neck— but the fact is that he had been on his way _out_ of their little campsite in the woods to go find a likely sort of tree and address a rather urgent matter of a decidedly personal nature when Geralt had accosted him without warning and pulled him down into his current position.

" _Geralt._ " Geralt just grunts and Jaskier squirms again, more insistently this time. He can't get any purchase like this, his feet not quite reaching the ground from his perch atop Geralt's lap, who is in turn sitting on the large dead tree he had hauled into the clearing earlier to use as a distinctly Geralt-sized chair. "Geralt, really, now, unhand me or you'll— _ah- ahh—_ " 

"Or I'll what?" The witcher's rough monotone is touched by amusement as he squeezes Jaskier through his trousers, having dropped a hand down to his cock while he'd been _trying_ to talk. "I'll regret it?" 

Under normal circumstances a ridiculous notion, yes, as Jaskier knows full well. But clearly Geralt is too consumed by desire for him— understandably so, in all fairness— to notice Jaskier's intention; nay, his _need,_ to get the fuck out of their camp, right the fuck now, and relieve himself before he _fucking bursts._

"As a matter of fact, my dear witcher, _yes._ In this case I— _nng—_ I daresay you will. Now—" 

"Why?" 

Geralt's interruption is really more of a flat statement than an actual interrogative, and it's muffled by the witcher burrowing under Jaskier's collar, teeth sharp and tongue distractingly hot and wet on his skin. _Almost_ distracting enough to let him forget the incessant throbbing pressure of his horribly overfull bladder. 

Almost. 

" _Damn it,_ Geralt, because I need to take a fucking piss _very_ badly and if you do not let me go this instant you will find yourself _very_ damp in _very_ short order, that's why!" Jaskier cries in exasperation, flushing at the admission and fully expecting to be _flung_ from Geralt's lap before the threatened accident can occur. 

"I know." 

Shocked speechless, it takes a full second or two before Jaskier finds his voice again. 

"I— you— … excuse me, you _what?_ " he sputters. Out of all the responses he could have gotten, that one did not rank high on the list of expected reactions. To say the least. 

"Jaskier, really. You think I haven't noticed your little games?" 

"Games? I play no _games,_ what games?" Jaskier scoffs, temporarily forgetting his goal of escape as one of Geralt's large hands pushes up under his shirt, palm deliciously hot and rough on his bare skin. He tries to close his legs to get a little pressure on his cock, but Geralt's knees force his thighs even further apart instead, and Jaskier lets out a groan— definitely not a whimper, a distinct _groan—_ as a sharp pang of need cramps his entire midsection. 

"You enjoy this. I've been watching you squirm since we made camp today, bard." 

Geralt punctuates _bard_ with a sharp tweak to Jaskier's nipple and a simultaneous squeeze to his now very confused cock— and who can blame it, really— and Jaskier can't hold back a loud gasp. 

" _Aah—_ well, you see, I was _quite_ busy helping you, naturally, and I got distracted, is all, and I most certainly haven't the _faintest_ notion what you're talking about, so— _oh—_ ohhh, oh fuck, Geralt, what are you do- _ing!_ " 

The last comes out as an entirely undignified yelp as Geralt— who had busied himself unfastening Jaskier's trousers while Jaskier was explaining what was, really, mostly the truth of why he'd waited so long, and he had thought the witcher had simply decided to finally be _helpful_ before releasing him— but no, instead Geralt has somehow managed to get his fingers oiled up without Jaskier noticing and is now in the process of shoving them up Jaskier's ass. 

"Geralt, I really— _hnn—_ I really cannot overstate the, ah, the _urgency,_ indeed the precariousness of my situation—" 

Jaskier trails off with a shudder as Geralt's fingers press into his sweet spot and send stars flashing across his vision. The witcher's other arm is wrapped tightly— _too_ tightly, and _gods_ does that feel fantastic— around Jaskier's hips and his now-neglected cock twitches in his trousers. He can't help relaxing into the familiar stretch of Geralt's touch working him open, and he realizes his mistake a moment later when he feels sudden warmth spreading through his smallclothes. 

"Fuck— Geralt, I need to _go!_ " Jaskier wails, clutching with both hands at the steel bar that passes for Geralt's forearm and abandoning any last vestiges of dignity to the winds. He can feel himself tighten around Geralt's fingers as he desperately clenches his muscles to stop the slow leak already trickling from his half-hard cock. 

"Then go," Geralt says, and his voice is truly _maddeningly_ calm in comparison to the frantic, burning need throbbing deep in Jaskier's core. 

He makes to stand and tear into the trees— though at this point, he has to concede he's more likely to just yank out his cock right there and piss in the dirt at Geralt's feet than he is to make it anywhere near the edge of the little clearing, and it would serve the gorgeous bastard right if it got on his boots, too— but Geralt's arm across his hips doesn't budge. 

"I didn't say get up," Geralt remarks conversationally, and adds a third finger. 

It is at this point that Jaskier finally catches on, and his heartbeat speeds up and he's unable to do anything but moan helplessly as he's impaled on Geralt's _quite sizeable_ fingers, his cock still confused but twitching eagerly in his dampened underclothes nevertheless. It is also at this point that Jaskier wonders how the _fuck_ Geralt has managed to work out his guilty little secret; the pleasure he does take in occasionally pushing himself to the very edge of losing control. That delightfully breathtaking edge where burning need is singing through his entire body, and he isn't _entirely_ certain if he'll make it this time or actually wet himself— and yes, a part of him always hopes he doesn't make it, kind of like that one time he was so drunk he didn't even notice until halfway through that he'd forgotten to actually pull out his cock after stepping outside for a piss— he isn't entirely certain he will make it until he does, and the pure, sweet, dizzying _relief_ when he finally lets go is essentially orgasmic in and of itself. 

And he always has made it, if only just barely sometimes, but _this_ time… This time Jaskier is _really_ not sure what will happen, because he's never pushed it this far before. He's already leaked once without meaning to and he's _definitely_ never tried to hold so much in with Geralt three fingers deep in his ass and the witcher's other hand rubbing at his cock again now that he's no longer attempting to wriggle away. Because, Jaskier realizes with a jolt and another loud moan, he _does_ want to stay right here and piss himself on Geralt's lap. 

He wants it so fucking badly he can scarcely breathe for wanting it. 

He's trying to find that balance between relaxing for Geralt without letting go just yet, and it's sort of working. He can feel himself leaking more and more, in tiny little fits and dribbles, and he can also feel how much tighter he still is than usual from the tension of holding back. Clearly Geralt can feel it too, and just as clearly likes it, because he's already panting while he more or less chews on Jaskier's neck, fingering him deeper and spreading him wide enough to take his massive cock without injury. Jaskier whines, and doesn't even care this time that he did, wriggling again on Geralt's lap. But not to get away anymore; no, now, he suddenly, desperately wants Geralt's cock in him instead of just fingers while he squirms and sobs and inevitably wets himself. He doesn't really know _why_ but he _needs_ it. 

And he's fairly certain that Geralt wants the same. The witcher's grip has tightened on his cock, stroking him through his clothing while still fingering him, and with Geralt's hand shoved down the back of his trousers, the waistband of Jaskier's smallclothes is cutting into his tender stomach and stoking the fire of mixed pleasure and pain and conflicting need that's burning hot in his belly. Geralt's been opening him up carefully but fairly quickly, considering; and really very little time has passed since he was pulled into Geralt's lap. It only feels like a very long time because everything is suddenly different now than it was a few minutes ago. But it still doesn't feel quick _enough._

Jaskier trembles as a longer, harder leak bathes his cock and balls in wet heat despite the fact that he's still desperately trying to hold the floodgates closed— and it _will_ be a flood when it goes, he knows this from experience— and when he feels as much as hears Geralt's deep groan resonating against his back, he knows it must have been enough to soak clear through his trousers under Geralt's hand this time. The utter shock that Geralt not only _knows_ but also _wants_ has worn off and Jaskier is babbling now, begging Geralt to hurry the fuck up and _fuck him,_ because he can't hold it much longer at all anymore. He still can't quite manage to catch his breath and he can feel the hot spurts of piss forcing their way out and trickling down his thigh, soaking into the seat of his trousers— 

"Go," Geralt growls in his ear, pulling his fingers out and yanking Jaskier backwards so that his ass is square on top of Geralt's crotch again, his legs still spread obscenely wide with his knees hooked over the witcher's thighs. 

Jaskier can feel Geralt's hand moving between them but he doesn't have time to think on that observation very long because he finally lets go with a shuddering gasp, and then he doesn't know anything for several glorious moments except the dizzying rush of release that leaves him swaying and sagging back against the solid, breathing wall of Geralt's chest. 

"Oh gods… oh fuck, Geralt, it feels… it's incredible." Jaskier's panting already. Geralt's hand is still on his cock while he pisses, and the flow is a bit slow and uneven at first as his locked-up muscles slowly receive the message, but once it picks up, the wet heat floods his crotch and drenches his clothing almost instantly. 

It's pure bliss, and Jaskier can't stop _moaning_ as all that built-up pressure gushes out of him, and then Geralt shifts under him with a groan and Jaskier remembers he's pissing on Geralt too. There's absolutely no way in hell it's not seeping straight through the seat of his trousers where he's nestled into Geralt's crotch. And Geralt is hard as _fuck_ under him, Jaskier can feel it against his ass, and he finally understands that Geralt has been wrestling his own lacings open just as Geralt shoves the back of Jaskier's soaked trousers down his ass and presses the thick head of his cock to Jaskier's hole. 

The instant jolt of arousal that shoots through him sets Jaskier's cock stiffening more than it already was, and he whimpers, bouncing needily on Geralt's lap as his stream begins sputtering out even though he's not fucking _empty_ yet. 

" _Geralt—_ Geralt, please, I need—" Jaskier doesn't even know what he needs anymore, but he needs _something._ He can feel Geralt's hand working over his own cock with only the tip inside Jaskier, his knuckles grazing Jasker's bared ass, and the way Geralt's cockhead is pushing and tugging at his rim with the movement of the witcher's hand gets him hard as a rock and makes up his mind beyond any possible doubt. He needs Geralt inside him and he needs to come and he needs both those things about five minutes ago. 

"Fucking _damn you,_ Geralt, get _on_ with it! You need to be fucking me right the fuck _now_ or I swear I will— _oh,_ oh gods, yes, fuck yes— _uhhhh—_ " 

Geralt has grabbed both his hips and yanked Jaskier down onto his cock with a grunt, and Jaskier doesn't think it's _ever_ felt quite this good before. Not even with Geralt. His whole midsection is singing and hot and and over-sensitive, his cock throbbing in his wet trousers and his balls aching as Geralt bounces him up and down on his lap. Geralt's slick cock feels almost impossibly huge even after the witcher spent all that time getting him ready to take it, and Geralt's fingers are gripping his hips so hard Jaskier already knows there'll be bruises, and he fucking loves it. 

And he hasn't quite fully stopped pissing either, Jaskier realizes. It's still trickling intermittently out of him to run back down his stiff cock, spurting out in harder pulses with every thrust of Geralt's cock into his ass, and each thrust is accompanied by a flash of pleasure so sharp it's nearly pain. He leans forward, scrabbling for purchase on Geralt's spread knees to keep his balance— and yes, it's still light enough out that he can _see_ it, he can see his piss dripping from the crotch of his trousers into an uneven wet patch in the dirt below them. The sight of it drives home the knowledge that he is in fact _wetting_ himself, _while_ getting fucked, and the shock of arousal it sends through him is so intense his arms shake and his heads spins and he nearly pitches forward off Geralt's lap entirely. 

Geralt must have felt it, because he slams Jaskier back and down onto his cock one more time and then holds him there while Jaskier pants and moans and wails for _more, damn you._ And then he's being lowered onto hands and knees in the dirt with Geralt still buried inside him, and he all but howls as Geralt starts moving again, hammering into him from behind with those low grunts and growls that have _always_ been unbearably fucking _hot._ He can tell from the sound Geralt is close already, and so is he, and Jaskier nearly loses his mind when Geralt reaches around and _squeezes_ him through his clothes without stopping. 

A scattered moment later and Geralt's barely even pulled him out of his sodden trousers before Jaskier's coming, just like that, from nothing but Geralt's hand tight around his cock. Geralt's not even stroking, and Jaskier could almost be embarrassed by how quickly he spent if it didn't feel so incredibly, mind-shatteringly _good,_ and Geralt doesn't stop as Jaskier shudders and spurts out all over the ground beneath them. He speeds up, rather, fucking Jaskier hard to within an inch of his sanity, and it's all Jaskier can do to stay up on all fours while Geralt's cock drags out his orgasm until he's shaking and sobbing for breath, his own wordless cries mingling with Geralt's panting grunts. They sound almost _desperate;_ and Geralt is _never_ desperate, Jaskier thinks with something akin to distant wonder, and then Geralt's slamming home one last time with a strangled snarl that makes Jaskier's toes curl in his boots and his lungs seize in his chest. 

He's almost immediately aware of the tingling sensation of a different kind of release while Geralt pumps out inside him, the witcher's thick cock pulsing harder and hotter as he fills Jaskier with his come. With his head lolling down between his elbows, Jaskier's eyes flutter open to watch as he finally finishes emptying himself, his tortured bladder having decided the game is over whether Jaskier says it is or not. He's pissing full-force into the dirt under him before Geralt has even finished coming and he's still going when Geralt _has_ finished, the air filled with the sounds of their ragged, panting breathing and liquid splattering hard onto wet ground. 

By the time the last, feeble trickles have finally petered out, Jaskier is feeling wonderfully limp and shaky, boneless; utterly weightless with pleasure as though he might float away if it weren't for Geralt's hands still holding him tightly by the hips and the heavy weight of Geralt's still-hard cock in his ass. 

He is also, he realizes rather abruptly, kneeling in an extremely large puddle which is rapidly soaking into his trousers and the dirt in seemingly equal measures, and said trousers are really quite thoroughly drenched and muddy at the knees and starting to get more than a little itchy where they're stretched tight across his thighs. They're also getting chilly despite the warm summer air, and Jaskier can't help wondering if he has permanently stained his clothes with this little adventure, and if so, what the fuck he's going to do about that because he doesn't have any others in his possession at the moment as the rest of his wardrobe has already been shredded and soiled and rendered generally unwearable by unspeakable and varied monster fluids. 

"Geralt," he manages. He's still, perhaps, somewhat breathless and maybe more than a little wobbly. 

"Hmm." 

" _Geralt._ " 

"Hmm?" 

"Geralt, I am _filthy._ " 

"Mm. I do like that about you." 

Jaskier can hear the amusement in Geralt's voice and he twists around to fix him with an indignant stare and definitely does not nearly overbalance when his arms shake under him. "You know full well I mean literally, Geralt. Look at me, I'm a _mess_ and it's entirely _your fault._ So you better have a damn good plan for taking care of that part now!"

Geralt smirks at him. 

"It is a good look on you," he says like he's agreeing, and Jaskier starts to sputter and huff because that was _not_ why he was pointing out his current disheveled state, but then Geralt finally pulls out of him with a groan and Jaskier can't breathe for a moment again. 

By the time he can, Geralt is standing up and pulling Jaskier to his feet as well. 

Jaskier wobbles. 

Geralt catches him one-handed while tugging his own trousers back up with the other and Jaskier kind of sags against him because his legs don't seem to be cooperating terribly much with the rest of him at the moment. 

"Don't worry, I do," Geralt says with that little twist of a smile he gets. 

Jaskier just blinks up at him, having momentarily forgotten exactly what it was he'd said to Geralt. 

_Ah, yes,_ he finally remembers. _A plan to take care of… all this. Good._ Before he can formulate a reply, however, Geralt's mouth is on his again and Jaskier melts into the kiss with a shivery sort of hum, letting Geralt's arms around his waist hold him up. 

He's only just managed to fumble his trousers back up his hips, grimacing against Geralt's lips as he tucks himself away into his now unpleasantly _cold_ wet clothing, when Geralt unceremoniously hoists him over one shoulder and strides into the woods. 

"Geralt! Where do you think you're taking m— oh. Oh no, nooo no no, you had better _not_ be going where I think you're going, witcher! That is a _terrible_ plan. Geralt, put me down, this is _undignified—_ " 

Geralt just grunts _hush_ and gives Jaskier's bare ass cheek a swat, and a minute later Jaskier yelps as Geralt walks straight into the nearby stream without slowing and dunks them both with a shit-eating grin that Jaskier is either going to hit or kiss off his face just as soon as he can catch his breath again. 

**Author's Note:**

> (Disclaimer: My apologies if I got worldbuilding / characterization aspects wrong, I don't know the whole Witcher universe much at all. I've only watched a handful of the show episodes but I promptly fell in love with these two, and the whole semi-feral hulking Geralt and bouncy adorable Jaskier dynamic hit too many of my buttons for me not to go ahead and write entirely self-indulgent gratuitous smut about them. But I hope you all enjoyed it too!)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Go.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179510) by [Just_another_phenOMOnon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_another_phenOMOnon/pseuds/Just_another_phenOMOnon)




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